


I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again

by crookedcrown



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25746238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedcrown/pseuds/crookedcrown
Summary: The five times Booker and Joe were mistaken for a couple.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 93
Kudos: 721





	I couldn't help but ask for you to say it all again

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by all the excellent Joe & Booker fics that are coming through. More, I say!

**_the first time_ **

The bartender shifts awkwardly into his line of sight. Booker finally looks at her when it's clear she won't leave.

“Are you Sebastien?” She asks. Nobody has called him that for a while, but he nods, knowing it can only be one of a handful of people looking for him.

“Someone called for you. Your-” She stops herself, obviously not wanting to make any assumptions. “He requested you return home immediately.” She already looks very nervous so Booker refrains from scowling. “And he also wants you to buy a carton of eggs because,” she pauses like it's important she remembers exactly what was said, “he wants omelettes for breakfast.”

Booker contemplates his life, how has he ended up being Joe's little errand boy. Because it could only be Joe, tracking him down and harassing him via this poor person who was just trying to do their job.

“He also said,” she continues, when it’s clear Booker isn't going to dignify any of this with an answer, “you have 15 minutes, otherwise he’s coming down here,” she takes a long breath, “to make a scene.”

Booker closes his eyes. Joe plays his hand and, just like that, Booker folds. When he opens them again, the bartender is looking at him hopefully. She has enough sense to read the truth in Joe’s threat.

Booker tips the rest of his drink into his mouth and stands. “How’d you know it was me?” He asks, curious now.

“He said to look for the gruff, handsome man with the sad eyes. Then he described what you were wearing in scarily accurate detail.”

Booker smiles fondly. His irritation momentarily extinguished. “He’s an artist.” Like that would help explain any of this already very odd interaction. He drops a handful of notes to cover his tab and adds a couple more. “For your trouble,” he says, in apology for having to deal with Joe. 

She smiles gratefully. Booker heads for the door and wonders where the hell he’s supposed to find eggs at this time of night.

**_second_ **

Booker follows Joe, their hands tightly clasped together. The club is packed, definitely over capacity, and Joe does not want them to get separated.

“You’re such a slow walker,” Joe had complained, after Andy had assigned them to be the eyes on the ground, while she and Nicky observed from afar. Booker ignored him, and made a comment about how shady business deals in nightclubs were already so cliched. Joe chuckled, their knees pressed up together. "Make sure you tell them that."

Joe weaves through the bodies with such ease and Booker thinks about Joe’s childhood, growing up in busy markets. He remembers the stories Joe shared with him, late at night, when Booker was awoken by one of his many nightmares.

Inevitably, Joe bumps into someone, hard enough for Booker to feel the vibrations through his own arm. Joe offers a distracted apology, slows down for a moment.

“Hey,” a woman tugs the back of Booker’s shirt. “I think your boyfriend dropped this.” Booker turns. She’s holding one of the neon glow-stick bracelets Joe had insisted on buying when they first arrived.

Booker knows it’s pointless to correct her, so he just takes the bracelet and nods in thanks. She smiles and disappears into the crowd.

Joe yanks his hand, impatient. Booker holds up the dislodged glow stick in response. Joe checks his bare wrist, then holds his arm out expectedly. Booker tries to untangle their hands but Joe refuses to let go, as they're jostled by the wave of people around them. Booker shifts them closer together, so Joe's arm is pressed up against Booker's chest, it gives him enough purchase to loop the glow stick around Joe's wrist and press the ends together.

Joe kisses him on the cheek and grins. “Thank you, boyfriend.” 

Booker sighs because of course he heard.

**_third_ **

Booker slides his tray up to the cashier. Apparently cafeteria-style eateries were all the rage now.

“He said you would pay for him.” She tilts her head towards Joe, who had been ahead of him. He had let Joe pick dishes for the both of them. Booker didn’t really care what he ate and Joe, with his endless curiosity, wanted to try everything.

“Red velvet cupcake,” he murmured, peering at the dessert section. “What do you think that means?”

Booker shrugged, a little bored, but still found himself amused by the sheer concentration on Joe’s face. “Only one way to find out,” he added because Joe was holding up the line and Booker really needed a coffee. Joe smiled at him, small and delighted, and put the small cake on Booker’s tray since there was no more room on his own.

He looks at Joe, who has the decency to look sheepish, and then back at the cashier. Her name badge says Renee.

“Of course he did.”

“Don’t worry,” she grins at him as she adds their total together. “My girlfriend forgets her wallet all the time. But at least they’re cute, huh?”

“Sure,” Booker says agreeably, reaching for his wallet, “at least they're cute.”

**_fourth_ **

Booker and Joe are in charge of checking into their rooms. Andy and Nicky had gone to pick up some extra snacks and supplies. Nicky and Joe were long vetoed from pairing off for such excursions because Joe would insist on touching everything and Nicky was loath to deny Joe anything. And Booker was as useful in a grocery store as he was in anything that wasn’t a fight or drinking.

Joe steps up to the counter with a bright smile and presents his identification.

“Ah, yes.” The woman greets him. She taps the keyboard. “Mr Nicholas and Joseph Smith-Jones?” She glances between them. Booker blinks. Joe reacts before Booker can process what is happening and grabs Booker’s hand, tugging him closer.

“Yes,” he beams because Joe is a shit. “We’re newly married,'' he says. “I don’t think my husband is used to being referred to as Mr Smith-Jones yet. But,” Joe smiles fondly at him, “we have time.”

The woman looks delighted. “Congratulations!” She glances at her screen. “You know, you’re in luck. Our honeymoon suite is available. I would be more than happy to upgrade you for no extra cost.”

“That would be wonderful! Wouldn’t it, my love?” Booker resists rolling his eyes, which is a tremendous effort that no-one will appreciate, but offers a vaguely affirmative grunt.

“He’s a man of few words,” Joe tells the woman. “But when he does speak,” he sighs, “it pierces my heart like no other.” It’s a bit much, Booker thinks, even for Joe.

She beams at them. “If you don’t mind waiting another 30 minutes or so? I’ll let you know when the room is ready.” She nods towards the seats in the lobby.

“Of course,” Joe smiles and drags Booker with him.

“Was that really necessary?” Booker asks once they’ve made themselves comfortable on the sofa.

“At first I thought it was funny,” Joe says and Booker is free to roll his eyes now, “but now I’ve been rewarded for it, so...” He bats his lashes at Booker.

"Don't get used to it," he grumbles in response, tilting his head back. It feels like he hasn't sat down in days.

“Nicky and I have never been upgraded to a honeymoon suite before.” Joe muses.

“I suspect you haven’t had many opportunities to check in under hyphenated names.” Booker drawls.

Joe considers this for a moment. “That’s true.” He lifts Booker's arm and drapes it around his own shoulders. “You’re so smart, my darling. It’s one of the reasons I married you.” Joe croons, too sweetly. Booker is tired and only manages to halfheartedly tug at Joe’s earlobe in response, but he keeps his arm around Joe’s shoulders and Joe nestles into it. He likes the feel of Joe’s curls pressed against his cheek. 

Nicky and Andy find them like this - Booker scrolling idly through his phone and Joe snoozing lightly against him. “You guys have the honeymoon suite.” Booker says, not looking up.

“Oh? How?” Nicky sits down next to Joe, who is awake now and surreptitiously sliding a hand across Nicky's thigh.

Before they can answer, the woman calls for them. “Mr and Mr Smith-Jones.” She waves. 

Nicky moves to stand, but Joe squeezes his knee. “I’m sorry, my heart. You'll have to sit this one out, I'm afraid.” Joe’s on his feet. "But I'll make it up to you." He promises with a wink as he hauls Booker up. Nicky frowns at their hands linked together, but doesn’t object.

Andy quirks an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll check in for us then?”

Booker can only offer a shrug as Joe leads them away.

**_and the last_ **

Booker doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring out into the ocean. The sun is setting, he knows he has to find a place for the night. Alone now.

He doesn’t expect Joe, of all people, to push him up against the wall when he’s halfway up the stairs. Sloppy from Booker, already so careless without his family.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Joe’s hands bunched tightly around the front of Booker’s shirt, his forehead pressed up against Booker's shoulder. Booker’s hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides, resists the urge, the instinct to touch Joe in return.

“I hate you so much,” Booker closes his eyes. He knew that, he did. But it still hurts to hear it. He had felt it in the way Joe yelled at him in the lab. But the way he had looked at him through the window, just hours earlier. He had looked so sad, so defeated. In 200 years, he thought he had seen every facet of Joe, from giddy, delirious laughter, to bone-crunching anger, to heaving, uncontrollable sobbing. “Because I love you so much.” And this catches Booker by surprise. Joe had never told him that. Had never said it with words. He supposes, on some level, he knew this, too. That Joe loves him. In the way he laughed at his jokes when no-one else would, the careful way he sketched him, the times Joe had fallen asleep, head lolling on Booker’s shoulder as he stayed up to keep Booker company, watching football highlights.

Joe pulls away just far enough to look into Booker’s eyes. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the word crawls painfully out, sharp edges catching against the tender sides of his throat. Maybe. Does he? Or is he just telling Joe what he thinks Joe wants to hear. Anything to rid the pain in his eyes. It backfires spectacularly. Booker should be use to that by now.

Joe staggers back, as if Booker had struck him, and shakes his head. He touches Booker on the cheek, gently, so gently. A brush of his fingertips and Booker leans into it. One last time, he thinks to himself. Then Joe is advancing up the stairs. This time, he doesn’t look back.

Booker takes a moment to compose himself, tries to commit to memory the lines of Joe's face. He is not an artist, he can't create anything beautiful with his hands. He is a forger, an eye for detail, he can memorise, he can copy.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, he hears someone say, “You should go after him, lad.” Booker turns to the voice. It takes him a moment to notice the elderly man, carefully scooping up the droppings from a pleased looking white furball, who was now curiously sniffing at Booker’s shoes.

Booker doesn’t owe this man an explanation and yet it feels so oddly impolite to ignore him, like Nicky or Nile would be disappointed in him for being rude to an old man. Booker doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t leave. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Love like that doesn’t come around very often.” The man adds, slowly, so slowly, tying up the plastic bag. The man finally looks at him. His eyes magnified almost comically by his glasses. Booker can clearly see when his eyes shift over his shoulder. Booker turns to look, too. He spots Joe immediately, like a lighthouse, reliable and bright, guiding his way home. But there is no home anymore. Booker is untethered as he drifts further away. 

Booker shakes his head, he swallows. “He needs some time.”

The man sighs, like he's heard it all before, and tugs at the leash. “You’ll be surprised how quickly that can run out.” Booker thinks he can see - or maybe he’s projecting - a wave of regret in his overblown eyes before he turns and starts to shuffle away.

Booker’s heart feels wrung out.

When he looks back, Joe is gone.


End file.
